intentions
Title: Intentions
Pairing: Sho/Jun
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~2700
Summary: Sho swears that he didn't mean it the way Jun thought he did.
A/N: This was written for the most recent summer kink meme to the prompt "accidental stimulation- crotch, nipples, ear, WTFEVER, some sensitive area- that leads to awkward sexytimes." So really, to sum it up....this is the epitome of porn-without-plot. (It has been edited somewhat, though that doesn't really change its genre.) My mindset when I wrote this was sexsexsexyaysex! Which is good and all, right? --Maybe. Anyway, to give you a better visual: this is the sort of shirt I envision Jun wearing, except clearly with nothing underneath it like the girl has on in the picture.
Sho swears that he didn't mean it the way Jun thought he did.
It happened in the dressing room less than ten minutes before their manager was going to come busting down the door demanding where the hell Sakurai and Matsumoto were. Jun had been a little late coming back from his drama shooting and was slipping into his costume as fast as he could--or rather, trying to shimmy into it as best he could without ripping the sheer material.
"It's not like our new song is about bondage in dark places," Jun muttered to himself as Sho handed him the next parts of his outfit with a look on his face that said we are going to be LATE, get the hell into your clothes before I make you go out there naked. (Anyway, Sho has to admit that showing Jun nude on Music Station would certainly up the ratings.) "Why do I have to wear this thing? It looks like someone dropped it into a shredder."
"Jun," Sho pleaded, one step away from gritting his teeth. "I know you're getting into a dominatrix uniform and it's weird, but we have to show to do in, oh, I don't know...six minutes."
"I know, I know--can you--," Jun began, and motioned to his chest, "help me a little?"
"If it'll help us get out there faster," Sho relented, and started to pull gently at the fabric, helping to get the shirt over Jun's shoulders. The shirt--if you could even call it that--was an all-black piece that honestly did look like some animal had clawed it up. Parts of it were slashed through over the chest so that you could see Jun's skin underneath, and the hem hung like a tattered curtain, barely covering the tips of Jun's hipbones. His jeans were hanging low, and the staff hadn't left a belt behind. They seemed to be a little out of it today--even Sho had to tug at his shirt-dress ensemble every five minutes to get it to hang right.
Finally, after a mini tug-of-war session between the shirt and Sho's fingers, Jun was clothed.
Sort of.
"You're not covered," Sho pointed out, forgetting their hurry for a few seconds.
"You'd think a shirt would be designed to cover everything," Jun had mumbled, and tried to arrange the strangely-cut folds of his shirt to cover his very exposed nipples. (Perhaps that was the reason Sho's brain skipped a few wavelengths.) "They wouldn't have gotten my size wrong, right? We've only been coming to MSute for the past ten years."
"Maybe there was an outfit mix-up," Sho suggested, and began to chew on his lip. "Aiba-kun is probably wearing your shirt right now. Can't you just--?"
Sho put his hands on Jun's chest for a second.
His palms lay on the fabric, and the tips of his fingers, splayed as they were, framed Jun's nipples like they were paintings and Sho was appraising them (though only in his dreams has Sho ever looked Jun up and down with a microscope, looking for diamonds in secret places, judging value from the softness of skin and the flatness of certain planes that go on forever). He hadn't thought about the implications of his action--it just sort of happened. Sho's mind was ticking along with the clock, after all. And Jun was right there in front of him. He just needed a place to put his hands, to steady himself, to think.
"What were you saying?" Jun asked after some time.
His voice was different: low, smoky.
Sho swallowed hard. "Why don't you just...cover up a bit and try not to move too much?" he tried, and looked beyond Jun to the clothing rack. Thank God thank God thank God. "Here, here's a scarf, I think the stylist removed it from Nino's outfit. It's kind of long, don't mind it--just leave it on until filming's over."
"Sho-kun," Jun began as he reached out for the scarf-and beyond that, farther, to Sho's arm.
If there had only been two more minutes, maybe just one, something would have happened. But behind the door of the dressing room there was a sudden rush of footsteps and Aiba's voice going, "SHO-CHAN, JUN-KUN, WE CAN'T PERFORM WITHOUT YOU!" There were hard knocks on the door and random curses and someone counting down from fifteen.
"If you don't come out in the next second," someone--Nino--shouted, "I'm going to walk in there, and if you're both naked I want five thousand yen from each of you to pay for my inevitable hospital bill. It costs a lot of money to fix gouged-out eyes, you know."
Jun's hand withdrew and his whole body snapped round as if the knocks and Nino's threat had spurred him into action. It was like nothing had ever happened between them.
Hurriedly, Jun wound the scarf around his neck and strode across the room to the door. "We're coming! Hold on a sec!" he shouted, and then flicked his eyes toward Sho.
"Later," he said--promised.
"Later," Sho echoed, more just to say something than because he understood. "Here?"
"Wherever you want," Jun replied. "I'll find you."
Sho nodded. He wasn't entirely sure what Jun meant--what Jun wanted--but he had an idea, and he wasn't going to run away from it.
-
"And now let's welcome Arashi, whose new single is already topping the charts!"
Above the noise of the audience's clapping, Sho is counting to five thousand in his head. He's not actually sure he can get that far, but it's helping him concentrate on not getting a raging hard-on in front of no less than twenty cameras and two audiences: the one in the studio and the entire nation of Japan.
They're sitting in the front row of seats for the talk portion of Music Station, and Sho has already sped through the introduction of their new single and whatever else he's supposed to say. His mind isn't here--it's far away, somewhere in the recesses of Jun's palm, being held captive between dark eyes and a single promise: later. Later, later, later.
It didn't help that Jun had decided to stand close to him whenever they were waiting for something--in the wings to go onstage, as they stood around with the other groups before filming began. And it wasn't the usual kind of standing close. This was...well, Sho can't think about it now. It makes him red in the face and sweaty all over and hard as anything, to think of Jun's breath down the back of his neck, tickling and teasing, or to remember the way Jun's hand strayed to his waist to guide him forward--.
Sho dares to look to his left.
Aiba is staring back at him. Not Jun, but Aiba, whose eyes are wide above his smile.
And his eyes are saying something. In fact, they're shouting, SHO-CHAN YOU HAVE A BONER ON NATIONAL TELEVISION. CROSS YOUR DAMN LEGS.
Sho quickly crosses his legs, pastes a pleasant smile on his face, and tries to listen to Nino's story about their camping trip.
"--And I was like, woah! A real bear! But Sho-chan was next to me in the seat and kept saying, 'it's okay, it's okay, it'll go away.' He was so calm about it."
The audience laughs. "A bear right by your van! That must have been scary. How did you feel about that, Sakurai-san?"
Sometime between Aiba's expression and Sho's panic, Nino had finished his story and Tamori had moved onto interrogating Sho, whose legs are squeezed together almost painfully. He hopes it's not noticeable that he's trying to hide something, but it probably is.
"I actually felt more panicked than I looked," Sho says, and tries to laugh.
"He's like that a lot, you see," Jun chimes in. "You think he's calm about something, but really he's a panicky guy."
"Is that so," Tamori chuckles. "How interesting!"
Sho squirms in his seat.
-
Later, back in the dressing room, Jun removes his scarf.
Nino and Aiba have already left, the two of them both busy with summer stage plays. Ohno is in the parking lot having a discussion with his manager, but when Sho looks around the only things in the room are his and Jun's belongings.
No one is coming back. It's just the two of them, and Jun is sitting on the edge of the couch, folding up Nino's discarded scarf with unnecessary attention and delicacy.
Neither of them says a word. There's a quiet clicking as the light in the room flickers once, twice; Sho looks up to squint at it but Jun pays no notice to the disturbance. It's like he's concentrating on something else--something imminent that will take up a lot of his stamina.
"Aiba told me," Jun finally says, and very casually, "that he was supposed to wear this shirt, but he got mixed up and put on the other one. And the stylists didn't notice until it was too late."
Sho smiles nervously. He is clear across the room, unzipping the leather jacket that he'll have to return to the clothing rack. "At least you found a scarf," he says.
"At least."
Jun has finished folding. He tosses the scarf on the table in the middle of the room and stands, then stretches. When he does that--when his arms, long and lean, reach up for the ceiling--Jun's shirt rises up to the middle of his stomach, exposing a deep navel and a piano of ribs. And skin--so, so much skin.
Sho stares.
"Sho. Come here," Jun says.
Sho doesn't move.
"Help me take this off," Jun says again, and his voice is back to how it was before--soft, heady, but with certain intent.
Sho can't move. "Jun," he says nervously, "I didn't mean to do that--before. With--you know."
It's as if something in the room has broken, snapped in two--the light flickers again and Jun crosses the room in five long, easy strides. "I don't care if you planned it or if your hands conveniently slipped or your brain stopped working altogether," Jun growls as he reaches Sho. "I'm horny and you touched me and I liked it. And I said later, didn't I? Well, it's later and I'm still wearing clothes."
Without any warning Jun slips both of his hands under Sho's plain white t-shirt and digs his uncut fingernails into Sho's sides, where his skin is the most sensitive. Sho gasps--what is going on--and Jun leans forward, catching Sho's bottom lip in his own and sucking gently, leaving a slight bruise that Sho will admire in his car mirror when this is all over.
But for now all Sho can do is respond. All of his nerves jump into motion at once, as if understanding that this is an opportunity worth taking, and he lets himself get pushed up against the wall. There, he wraps one leg round Jun's body, trapping him closer. And his devious fingers, his hands--they go right for Jun's nipples, still showing clear through the cutouts in his shirt.
Jun's cry is like an arrow piercing swift through the dark and Sho realizes--Jun likes nipple-play. Jun likes to have his nipples touched.
He probably does it alone in his house, sprawled out over his bed on all-white sheets. The scenario plays out in Sho's head, a naughty movie theater of sorts: Jun naked, legs slightly bent, as his fingers brush over his nipples and his cock grows, grows, grows. Sho thinks about Jun stuffing the edge of his pillowcase in his mouth to keep from groaning too loud, to hide his weekly habits from the prying neighbors. Sho thinks about the way Jun's nipples will start to throb after five minutes of play and how Jun will just have to lay a fingertip on the top of his cock for him to come everywhere, all over his hand and sheets.
Somehow this makes everything better, everything from Sho's spontaneous touches to his public, monstrous hard-on to this, to sex in the dressing room with the door unlocked and everyone still milling around outside. Anyone could come in at any second to ask for paperwork or a ride home or dinner.
Sho thinks, as his heartbeat speeds up and fills his ears and lungs with a heavy rhythm, fuck them and their questions. They can go find other people to harass.
Besides, they're busy. Very busy. Sho takes Jun's left nipple between his fingers and pinches, not too hard but enough to make a point, to coax an animalistic sound from Jun that burns straight through Sho's body. Jun's lips slide over Sho's in a forgotten kiss; now he's too preoccupied with moaning and writhing. Sho can feel Jun's cock pulsing through the fabric of too-tight jeans, which are just as slutty-looking as the shirt he has on.
An idea occurs to Sho, suddenly, and as he feels Jun's hands fist in his t-shirt Sho bends forward to press the tip of his tongue to Jun's other nipple. The touch is a shock of fire and Jun's hips buck; Sho stills him with a hissed ssh. Still, Sho decides that's not enough, even with Jun's breathing growing ragged right above him (and Jun's hand has let go of Sho's shirt and is snaking down into Sho's jeans, into Sho's boxers, and further--fuck, is all Sho can think as the electricity in his body soars to new levels, to the stars in the sky and beyond. Fuck).
Sho's lips close around the nipple and suck just like Jun did Sho's lips; Jun presses forward, mumbling words that make absolutely no sense but rush through Sho like lightning through a cloud. He can't hear anything anymore, can't distinguish between sounds, but he can feel every single one of them in little jolts all over his body, along his spine and the soft skin of his inner thighs and over the length of his cock, still buried in his pants.
"Jun," Sho rasps, and his tongue slides all over Jun's nipple. Forget finger-painting in kindergarten; Sho could do this all day instead and pass with flying colors, he's sure. "Jun, touch me."
Jun's breath has long since been lost in the atmosphere of the room, but he manages to nod. His eyes are shut tight and Sho can see the sweat standing out on his forehead, which is scrunched in concentration. And he's whining. Jun is whining, whimpering pathetically through his bitten, ruby lips.
"I hope you look like this when you're at home alone, Jun," Sho whispers, teeth gritted. He lets his head fall back against the wall with a thud as Jun's fingers finally wrap around his cock, squeezing gently along the length as Sho's knees begin to give out. But he keeps talking, and he brings his palms up again to lie right against Jun's sore nipples. Just yesterday he went golfing with Aiba, and there are sure to be calluses in all the right places. "I hope you look at yourself in the mirror when you play with yourself at home. I know you do, Jun. I know you like to touch yourself on your bed, your nipples, too, like this--like what we're doing. Don't you?"
"Sho," Jun manages to gasp. "Shut the fuck up and touch me, would you?"
Sho obliges happily. When he finds Jun's cock and strokes methodically, but messily--onetwothreefour--it's a matter of seconds before Jun is gone, gone all over Sho and the floor and his pristine black jeans. His moan is a long, wordless sound, voiced right into the shell of Sho's ear. It reminds Sho of the wind during a typhoon before it dies down-one last howl before the eye of the storm.
But there are still matters left unfinished, and Jun's hand continues to work Sho's cock, jerking away, and Sho is close--so close. All he needs is one last thing to push him over, just a simple hitched breath from Jun or something else--something like--
"Oh, and by the way," Jun says, still panting for breath in Sho's ear, "when I'm jerking off, I think of you there with me. Next to me, coming all over me. Really, really fucking hard."
The image is a split-second flash in Sho's head, a subliminal message cut into the frames of a movie: he and Jun on Jun's bed, tangled together as naked as the day they were born. Or maybe Jun's wearing this shirt. The shirt he still has on, with his pink, raw nipples still peeking out from between windows made from fabric.
"Come on, Sho," Jun mumbles. "All over me. Go."
Somewhere in the distance the rumble of a janitor's cart goes by, its rusty wheels screeching against the lineoleum of the floor. Even so, Sho doesn't think that twenty of those carts would have been enough to cover the intensity of his orgasm. In his head it's all a blur--a flash of white-hot pleasure exploding behind his eyes--and Jun will tell him later that he had to tell Kuroki Meisa next door, who inquired about "someone in pain," that the clothing rack had fallen on Sho's foot.
-
Sho swears that even if he did mean to turn Jun on and make him the horniest he's possibly ever been in his life, he certainly didn't intend to ruin two pieces of very expensive clothing.
"Can't use those black jeans anymore," Jun says as he wiggles out of them. He and Sho are both still ridiculously sweaty and out of breath. "Or this shirt."
He pulls it over his head and it tears a little--in fact, it tears a lot. Jun takes one look at the damage, then shrugs and tosses it on top of the jeans pile.
"Oh my God," Sho squeaks from where he's sitting against the wall. He couldn't move if he tried. "That was designer, wasn't it?"
"It was a piece of cloth that someone put through the shredder," Jun says. "I said that already."
Sho wants to tell Jun that he'll have to pay for that, but he is much too tired. All he can do is breathe, and bring one limp hand up to his face to brush the wet, matted hair away from his forehead.
"I really need a shower," Jun mumbles.
"Me too," Sho agrees.
Then he thinks for a second. Mainly, he thinks while looking at Jun's naked body standing right in front of him.
"So, my house," Sho finally says. "It's not too far from here."
Jun grins.
Pairing: Sho/Jun
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~2700
Summary: Sho swears that he didn't mean it the way Jun thought he did.
A/N: This was written for the most recent summer kink meme to the prompt "accidental stimulation- crotch, nipples, ear, WTFEVER, some sensitive area- that leads to awkward sexytimes." So really, to sum it up....this is the epitome of porn-without-plot. (It has been edited somewhat, though that doesn't really change its genre.) My mindset when I wrote this was sexsexsexyaysex! Which is good and all, right? --Maybe. Anyway, to give you a better visual: this is the sort of shirt I envision Jun wearing, except clearly with nothing underneath it like the girl has on in the picture.
Sho swears that he didn't mean it the way Jun thought he did.
It happened in the dressing room less than ten minutes before their manager was going to come busting down the door demanding where the hell Sakurai and Matsumoto were. Jun had been a little late coming back from his drama shooting and was slipping into his costume as fast as he could--or rather, trying to shimmy into it as best he could without ripping the sheer material.
"It's not like our new song is about bondage in dark places," Jun muttered to himself as Sho handed him the next parts of his outfit with a look on his face that said we are going to be LATE, get the hell into your clothes before I make you go out there naked. (Anyway, Sho has to admit that showing Jun nude on Music Station would certainly up the ratings.) "Why do I have to wear this thing? It looks like someone dropped it into a shredder."
"Jun," Sho pleaded, one step away from gritting his teeth. "I know you're getting into a dominatrix uniform and it's weird, but we have to show to do in, oh, I don't know...six minutes."
"I know, I know--can you--," Jun began, and motioned to his chest, "help me a little?"
"If it'll help us get out there faster," Sho relented, and started to pull gently at the fabric, helping to get the shirt over Jun's shoulders. The shirt--if you could even call it that--was an all-black piece that honestly did look like some animal had clawed it up. Parts of it were slashed through over the chest so that you could see Jun's skin underneath, and the hem hung like a tattered curtain, barely covering the tips of Jun's hipbones. His jeans were hanging low, and the staff hadn't left a belt behind. They seemed to be a little out of it today--even Sho had to tug at his shirt-dress ensemble every five minutes to get it to hang right.
Finally, after a mini tug-of-war session between the shirt and Sho's fingers, Jun was clothed.
Sort of.
"You're not covered," Sho pointed out, forgetting their hurry for a few seconds.
"You'd think a shirt would be designed to cover everything," Jun had mumbled, and tried to arrange the strangely-cut folds of his shirt to cover his very exposed nipples. (Perhaps that was the reason Sho's brain skipped a few wavelengths.) "They wouldn't have gotten my size wrong, right? We've only been coming to MSute for the past ten years."
"Maybe there was an outfit mix-up," Sho suggested, and began to chew on his lip. "Aiba-kun is probably wearing your shirt right now. Can't you just--?"
Sho put his hands on Jun's chest for a second.
His palms lay on the fabric, and the tips of his fingers, splayed as they were, framed Jun's nipples like they were paintings and Sho was appraising them (though only in his dreams has Sho ever looked Jun up and down with a microscope, looking for diamonds in secret places, judging value from the softness of skin and the flatness of certain planes that go on forever). He hadn't thought about the implications of his action--it just sort of happened. Sho's mind was ticking along with the clock, after all. And Jun was right there in front of him. He just needed a place to put his hands, to steady himself, to think.
"What were you saying?" Jun asked after some time.
His voice was different: low, smoky.
Sho swallowed hard. "Why don't you just...cover up a bit and try not to move too much?" he tried, and looked beyond Jun to the clothing rack. Thank God thank God thank God. "Here, here's a scarf, I think the stylist removed it from Nino's outfit. It's kind of long, don't mind it--just leave it on until filming's over."
"Sho-kun," Jun began as he reached out for the scarf-and beyond that, farther, to Sho's arm.
If there had only been two more minutes, maybe just one, something would have happened. But behind the door of the dressing room there was a sudden rush of footsteps and Aiba's voice going, "SHO-CHAN, JUN-KUN, WE CAN'T PERFORM WITHOUT YOU!" There were hard knocks on the door and random curses and someone counting down from fifteen.
"If you don't come out in the next second," someone--Nino--shouted, "I'm going to walk in there, and if you're both naked I want five thousand yen from each of you to pay for my inevitable hospital bill. It costs a lot of money to fix gouged-out eyes, you know."
Jun's hand withdrew and his whole body snapped round as if the knocks and Nino's threat had spurred him into action. It was like nothing had ever happened between them.
Hurriedly, Jun wound the scarf around his neck and strode across the room to the door. "We're coming! Hold on a sec!" he shouted, and then flicked his eyes toward Sho.
"Later," he said--promised.
"Later," Sho echoed, more just to say something than because he understood. "Here?"
"Wherever you want," Jun replied. "I'll find you."
Sho nodded. He wasn't entirely sure what Jun meant--what Jun wanted--but he had an idea, and he wasn't going to run away from it.
-
"And now let's welcome Arashi, whose new single is already topping the charts!"
Above the noise of the audience's clapping, Sho is counting to five thousand in his head. He's not actually sure he can get that far, but it's helping him concentrate on not getting a raging hard-on in front of no less than twenty cameras and two audiences: the one in the studio and the entire nation of Japan.
They're sitting in the front row of seats for the talk portion of Music Station, and Sho has already sped through the introduction of their new single and whatever else he's supposed to say. His mind isn't here--it's far away, somewhere in the recesses of Jun's palm, being held captive between dark eyes and a single promise: later. Later, later, later.
It didn't help that Jun had decided to stand close to him whenever they were waiting for something--in the wings to go onstage, as they stood around with the other groups before filming began. And it wasn't the usual kind of standing close. This was...well, Sho can't think about it now. It makes him red in the face and sweaty all over and hard as anything, to think of Jun's breath down the back of his neck, tickling and teasing, or to remember the way Jun's hand strayed to his waist to guide him forward--.
Sho dares to look to his left.
Aiba is staring back at him. Not Jun, but Aiba, whose eyes are wide above his smile.
And his eyes are saying something. In fact, they're shouting, SHO-CHAN YOU HAVE A BONER ON NATIONAL TELEVISION. CROSS YOUR DAMN LEGS.
Sho quickly crosses his legs, pastes a pleasant smile on his face, and tries to listen to Nino's story about their camping trip.
"--And I was like, woah! A real bear! But Sho-chan was next to me in the seat and kept saying, 'it's okay, it's okay, it'll go away.' He was so calm about it."
The audience laughs. "A bear right by your van! That must have been scary. How did you feel about that, Sakurai-san?"
Sometime between Aiba's expression and Sho's panic, Nino had finished his story and Tamori had moved onto interrogating Sho, whose legs are squeezed together almost painfully. He hopes it's not noticeable that he's trying to hide something, but it probably is.
"I actually felt more panicked than I looked," Sho says, and tries to laugh.
"He's like that a lot, you see," Jun chimes in. "You think he's calm about something, but really he's a panicky guy."
"Is that so," Tamori chuckles. "How interesting!"
Sho squirms in his seat.
-
Later, back in the dressing room, Jun removes his scarf.
Nino and Aiba have already left, the two of them both busy with summer stage plays. Ohno is in the parking lot having a discussion with his manager, but when Sho looks around the only things in the room are his and Jun's belongings.
No one is coming back. It's just the two of them, and Jun is sitting on the edge of the couch, folding up Nino's discarded scarf with unnecessary attention and delicacy.
Neither of them says a word. There's a quiet clicking as the light in the room flickers once, twice; Sho looks up to squint at it but Jun pays no notice to the disturbance. It's like he's concentrating on something else--something imminent that will take up a lot of his stamina.
"Aiba told me," Jun finally says, and very casually, "that he was supposed to wear this shirt, but he got mixed up and put on the other one. And the stylists didn't notice until it was too late."
Sho smiles nervously. He is clear across the room, unzipping the leather jacket that he'll have to return to the clothing rack. "At least you found a scarf," he says.
"At least."
Jun has finished folding. He tosses the scarf on the table in the middle of the room and stands, then stretches. When he does that--when his arms, long and lean, reach up for the ceiling--Jun's shirt rises up to the middle of his stomach, exposing a deep navel and a piano of ribs. And skin--so, so much skin.
Sho stares.
"Sho. Come here," Jun says.
Sho doesn't move.
"Help me take this off," Jun says again, and his voice is back to how it was before--soft, heady, but with certain intent.
Sho can't move. "Jun," he says nervously, "I didn't mean to do that--before. With--you know."
It's as if something in the room has broken, snapped in two--the light flickers again and Jun crosses the room in five long, easy strides. "I don't care if you planned it or if your hands conveniently slipped or your brain stopped working altogether," Jun growls as he reaches Sho. "I'm horny and you touched me and I liked it. And I said later, didn't I? Well, it's later and I'm still wearing clothes."
Without any warning Jun slips both of his hands under Sho's plain white t-shirt and digs his uncut fingernails into Sho's sides, where his skin is the most sensitive. Sho gasps--what is going on--and Jun leans forward, catching Sho's bottom lip in his own and sucking gently, leaving a slight bruise that Sho will admire in his car mirror when this is all over.
But for now all Sho can do is respond. All of his nerves jump into motion at once, as if understanding that this is an opportunity worth taking, and he lets himself get pushed up against the wall. There, he wraps one leg round Jun's body, trapping him closer. And his devious fingers, his hands--they go right for Jun's nipples, still showing clear through the cutouts in his shirt.
Jun's cry is like an arrow piercing swift through the dark and Sho realizes--Jun likes nipple-play. Jun likes to have his nipples touched.
He probably does it alone in his house, sprawled out over his bed on all-white sheets. The scenario plays out in Sho's head, a naughty movie theater of sorts: Jun naked, legs slightly bent, as his fingers brush over his nipples and his cock grows, grows, grows. Sho thinks about Jun stuffing the edge of his pillowcase in his mouth to keep from groaning too loud, to hide his weekly habits from the prying neighbors. Sho thinks about the way Jun's nipples will start to throb after five minutes of play and how Jun will just have to lay a fingertip on the top of his cock for him to come everywhere, all over his hand and sheets.
Somehow this makes everything better, everything from Sho's spontaneous touches to his public, monstrous hard-on to this, to sex in the dressing room with the door unlocked and everyone still milling around outside. Anyone could come in at any second to ask for paperwork or a ride home or dinner.
Sho thinks, as his heartbeat speeds up and fills his ears and lungs with a heavy rhythm, fuck them and their questions. They can go find other people to harass.
Besides, they're busy. Very busy. Sho takes Jun's left nipple between his fingers and pinches, not too hard but enough to make a point, to coax an animalistic sound from Jun that burns straight through Sho's body. Jun's lips slide over Sho's in a forgotten kiss; now he's too preoccupied with moaning and writhing. Sho can feel Jun's cock pulsing through the fabric of too-tight jeans, which are just as slutty-looking as the shirt he has on.
An idea occurs to Sho, suddenly, and as he feels Jun's hands fist in his t-shirt Sho bends forward to press the tip of his tongue to Jun's other nipple. The touch is a shock of fire and Jun's hips buck; Sho stills him with a hissed ssh. Still, Sho decides that's not enough, even with Jun's breathing growing ragged right above him (and Jun's hand has let go of Sho's shirt and is snaking down into Sho's jeans, into Sho's boxers, and further--fuck, is all Sho can think as the electricity in his body soars to new levels, to the stars in the sky and beyond. Fuck).
Sho's lips close around the nipple and suck just like Jun did Sho's lips; Jun presses forward, mumbling words that make absolutely no sense but rush through Sho like lightning through a cloud. He can't hear anything anymore, can't distinguish between sounds, but he can feel every single one of them in little jolts all over his body, along his spine and the soft skin of his inner thighs and over the length of his cock, still buried in his pants.
"Jun," Sho rasps, and his tongue slides all over Jun's nipple. Forget finger-painting in kindergarten; Sho could do this all day instead and pass with flying colors, he's sure. "Jun, touch me."
Jun's breath has long since been lost in the atmosphere of the room, but he manages to nod. His eyes are shut tight and Sho can see the sweat standing out on his forehead, which is scrunched in concentration. And he's whining. Jun is whining, whimpering pathetically through his bitten, ruby lips.
"I hope you look like this when you're at home alone, Jun," Sho whispers, teeth gritted. He lets his head fall back against the wall with a thud as Jun's fingers finally wrap around his cock, squeezing gently along the length as Sho's knees begin to give out. But he keeps talking, and he brings his palms up again to lie right against Jun's sore nipples. Just yesterday he went golfing with Aiba, and there are sure to be calluses in all the right places. "I hope you look at yourself in the mirror when you play with yourself at home. I know you do, Jun. I know you like to touch yourself on your bed, your nipples, too, like this--like what we're doing. Don't you?"
"Sho," Jun manages to gasp. "Shut the fuck up and touch me, would you?"
Sho obliges happily. When he finds Jun's cock and strokes methodically, but messily--onetwothreefour--it's a matter of seconds before Jun is gone, gone all over Sho and the floor and his pristine black jeans. His moan is a long, wordless sound, voiced right into the shell of Sho's ear. It reminds Sho of the wind during a typhoon before it dies down-one last howl before the eye of the storm.
But there are still matters left unfinished, and Jun's hand continues to work Sho's cock, jerking away, and Sho is close--so close. All he needs is one last thing to push him over, just a simple hitched breath from Jun or something else--something like--
"Oh, and by the way," Jun says, still panting for breath in Sho's ear, "when I'm jerking off, I think of you there with me. Next to me, coming all over me. Really, really fucking hard."
The image is a split-second flash in Sho's head, a subliminal message cut into the frames of a movie: he and Jun on Jun's bed, tangled together as naked as the day they were born. Or maybe Jun's wearing this shirt. The shirt he still has on, with his pink, raw nipples still peeking out from between windows made from fabric.
"Come on, Sho," Jun mumbles. "All over me. Go."
Somewhere in the distance the rumble of a janitor's cart goes by, its rusty wheels screeching against the lineoleum of the floor. Even so, Sho doesn't think that twenty of those carts would have been enough to cover the intensity of his orgasm. In his head it's all a blur--a flash of white-hot pleasure exploding behind his eyes--and Jun will tell him later that he had to tell Kuroki Meisa next door, who inquired about "someone in pain," that the clothing rack had fallen on Sho's foot.
-
Sho swears that even if he did mean to turn Jun on and make him the horniest he's possibly ever been in his life, he certainly didn't intend to ruin two pieces of very expensive clothing.
"Can't use those black jeans anymore," Jun says as he wiggles out of them. He and Sho are both still ridiculously sweaty and out of breath. "Or this shirt."
He pulls it over his head and it tears a little--in fact, it tears a lot. Jun takes one look at the damage, then shrugs and tosses it on top of the jeans pile.
"Oh my God," Sho squeaks from where he's sitting against the wall. He couldn't move if he tried. "That was designer, wasn't it?"
"It was a piece of cloth that someone put through the shredder," Jun says. "I said that already."
Sho wants to tell Jun that he'll have to pay for that, but he is much too tired. All he can do is breathe, and bring one limp hand up to his face to brush the wet, matted hair away from his forehead.
"I really need a shower," Jun mumbles.
"Me too," Sho agrees.
Then he thinks for a second. Mainly, he thinks while looking at Jun's naked body standing right in front of him.
"So, my house," Sho finally says. "It's not too far from here."
Jun grins.